Find My Way Home [m×m; mpreg]

eight

I scream, failing to break away from their tight hold on my arms.  I try everything to escape, desperately wriggling until they're forced to let go.  But their grip only tightens.  They're hands paint bruises on my skin as they twist my arm and force me into submission.  Until I'm on my knees and begging to be let go.

That only seems to draw a satisfied chuckle from my tormentors.

"Let me go," I demand, voice breaking weakly.

"We'll let you go," the ring leader assures, "but not before we're through with you."

My eyes grow comically wide in fear before I close them shut, waiting for the blow that knocks my breath away.  The sharp flare of pain digs into my side and makes my baby blue eyes sting with unshed tears.

"No," I croak weakly, voice hoarse, "no more."

Someone suddenly grabs my leg and I try to buck free but they twist it until I hear my prosthetic break.

"Stop!" I scream, only to have someone yank my hair and muffle my mouth with a discarded shirt until I'm gagging on the fabric.

The straps that once held my prosthetic in place now burn my skin raw like rope-burn at the incessant pull.  It hurts as broken plastic digs into my skin and creates painful paper cuts.

My breath hitches when he leans down, breath ghosting against my ear, "You think you're better than everyone else, don't you, you crippled spastic."

I shake my head in denial, struggling weakly.

His smile is cruel, eyes uncaring and filled with hate, "Always had everything, did't you?  Let's see when you have nothing, not even your dignity."

He drags me by the hair and briefly stops by the entrance before heading into the boy's bathroom next door.  I flinch at the booming sound of a stall knocking into the wall.

Salty tears runs down my pale cheeks, bottom lip quivering in fear.

He pulls my hair before pushing my head into the toilet bowl.  I close my eyes and hold my breath, struggling to break free.

In seconds I'm pulled out and I manage a small breath before he dunks my head in again, face squished against the porcelain.

This time there's no respite.  I try to hold my breath but I can't fight the urge to breathe.

The rush of water burns my nose as I give in.  I'm choking on water, vision swimming and hazy, chest aching and lungs filling with liquid.

"Pathetic," he sneers.

I scream.

I try to scream and cry for help.  I want this to end.  I don't want to hurt anymore. 

Help! Somebody please help me!

"Morgan!"

I sit up, body wound tight and trembling as I sob and cry.

Ian is by my side, arms wrapping around my waist as he reaches for the red button to call for a nurse.

"Stop," I whimper, "please, let me go."

Like a broken record I beg them to stop, failing to realize that I'm safe.  With Ian I'm always safe.

"You're okay," he whispers, voice rough from sleep yet soft and smooth against my ear, "You're okay, sweetling."

I shake my head, I'm still there.

I'm still stuck in the bathroom and I still can't breathe.

The room is too small.

There's not enough air.

Water is filling my lungs and tears are burning my throat and stinging my eyes.

I can't breathe!

"Morgan?" Ian shouts, "Morgan!"